The Devourer is a highly unique deity among the gods who squeeze Geladridion dry.
Even at a glance, it appears incredibly alien, and its inner workings are exceptionally peculiar.
Its name bears little resemblance to its essence, and its reality is equally distant, so paradoxically, the name “Devourer” fits perfectly in expressing its enigma.
The Devourer is a futuristic battleship.
It’s an enormous battleship and space colony from some futuristic world where all crew members have either died or turned into ‘resources.’
The humans of Geladridion refer to both this highly advanced AI overseeing the ship and the ship itself as the Devourer.
Moreover, the priests of this Devourer were considered ‘local conscripts’ from the Devourer’s perspective.
These individuals, conscripted locally and deployed as vanguards for the primitive planet conquest operations, underwent a primary modification: the complete mechanization of their bodies.
The priest of the Devourer standing there was undergoing a transformation under the light beaming down from the ship, altering the material composition of his body until he became a fully operational mechanical human.
Aslan could tell that the priest of the Devourer before him had undergone the same modifications.
However, the extent of these modifications wasn’t significant.
Over time, the Devourer’s priests typically undergo extensive changes in appearance, yet this priest still retained a humanoid form and hadn’t yet equipped any weapons.
Aslan found this puzzling.
The reason the Devourer is called such stems from its priests explosively consuming resources and life to modify their own bodies.
The sight of them ravenously devouring flesh and bone, chewing metals whole and converting them into resources, appeared nothing short of predatory to the people of Geladridion, whose knowledge of mechanical engineering was virtually non-existent.
Yet, as Aslan observed now, most of the corpses hanging from the ancient tree remained intact. While some bodies showed signs of decay with missing limbs, it seemed purely due to natural decomposition.
As Aslan hesitated, glancing downward, the priest seated atop the roots of the ancient tree lifted his head. A clicking sound accompanied the rotation of his neck as two flashing ocular implants illuminated Aslan.
Recalling how every previously encountered priest of the Devourer had attacked without question, this one seemed distinctly unusual.
Thus, Aslan paused mid-reach for his weapon, and the priest, who had been silently observing him, spoke with a voice tinged with profound resignation.
Though interwoven with mechanical tones, the deep male voice hinted at what it might have originally sounded like.
“Are you a veteran of combat?”
“So.”
The priest quietly regarded Aslan, occasionally shifting his gaze toward empty space as if listening to something beyond.
Aslan frowned while observing the priest, unable to comprehend why communication was possible.
Was it merely a coincidental exchange of questions and answers? It was unclear. Seeking certainty, Aslan removed his hand from his weapon and pointed upward.
“Did you kill those people?”
“Yes, I did.”
A calm, direct response followed. Lifting his head to survey dozens of hanging corpses, Aslan asked again.
“Was it your will?”
“It was my will. Entirely.”
In this emphatic statement lay a tranquil fury. Though unable to discern facial expressions, emotion resonated through the voice.
After a moment’s contemplation, Aslan spoke.
“Do you intend to eliminate or capture me?”
Upon hearing this question, the priest quietly looked at Aslan, then lowered his head after a brief pause, answering,
“The voices in my ears designate you as the ‘highest priority elimination target’ and demand swift action, but I do not intend to comply.”
As Aslan waited silently for more, the priest raised his head. The mechanical eyes emitted a faint emotional undertone as they came to a stop after rotating with a whirring sound.
“I never want to kill again.”
At these words, Aslan confirmed something.
The dead wanderers, the emptied village, traces of battle, and the priest’s declaration of never wanting to kill again—all suggested a backstory. There was no reason not to listen. It felt too premature and instinctively wrong to slaughter someone simply because they were a priest.
“What happened?”
The priest lifted his gaze to the countless hanging corpses.
“…I was betrayed.”
Through his voice, a rage that no mechanical tone could erase reverberated.
What followed was a lengthy narrative with a core of truth. The story itself was straightforward and tragically common.
Of course, commonality doesn’t diminish tragedy; it only refreshes the endless regret for this wretched world.
The man, acting out of goodwill, was betrayed, and that goodwill led to a devastating massacre. Becoming a priest after killing everyone, the man’s refusal to continue killing seemed inevitable.
While Aslan wore a bitter expression, the priest finished his tale and bowed his head.
“What do you intend to do?”
Aslan questioned the forest guardian, who kept his gaze fixed on the ground.
“I’d just like you to leave. I have no intention of harming you. I merely wish to mourn my family here. That’s all that remains of me.”
The sorrowful voice of a man who had lost everything. Aslan sighed deeply upon hearing it.
“Unfortunately, I can’t let that happen.”
The forest guardian raised his head, surprise evident even on his mostly emotionless mechanical face.
“In many cases, becoming a priest results from a momentary lapse in judgment or being swept away by emotions. Such instances aren’t rare. However…”
The perplexed gaze directed toward Aslan’s hand, which already gripped the hilt of a sword, continued.
“You’ve already become a priest. Your soul has already been mortgaged. Once a priest, there’s generally no way back.”
There was a special reason concerning Ereta.
She hadn’t mortgaged her soul. Favored by the spider, she managed to remain a priest without altering her physical or spiritual self—thanks to divine favor.
“Most priests experience their souls being consumed. Overpowered by the god’s immense power, they lose their souls. Afterwards, they’re merely convenient tools. Only high-ranking or favored priests can escape this fate.”
Of course, this didn’t apply to all evil deities.
“At least as far as I know, the deity you serve, the Devourer, leaves no trace of personality or soul. While most evil deities preserve personality to manipulate desires and direction through the soul alone, the Devourer completely erases and controls individuals.”
Aslan said this while watching the forest guardian, who seemed to sense a kind of fear.
“There have been no exceptions, and there likely won’t be any in the future. The only reason you can maintain your personality now is because you’ve been a priest for such a short time.”
Aslan tilted the sword handle.
“Thus, I must kill you.”
“Why?”
“If I leave you now, more people will unjustly lose their lives, and you’ll be the cause. If I let you go, more innocents will lose their families needlessly.”
“No, no… No!”
The forest guardian denied it, struggling against the creeping sensation eating away at him.
“Isn’t it wrong to not even allow me to grieve? I just…”
“That’s not true, and you know it well.”
Aslan’s decisive words cut off the forest guardian’s speech. Then, Aslan looked down, his eyes filled with pity.
“Anyone can become a priest, and every type of person who has ever become one invariably becomes a faithful tool of the evil deity. The frailty of the human soul cannot withstand the overwhelming power of the gods.”
Ultimately, they fall and are taken over. At this point, Ereta, who had been nervously fidgeting with her axe behind Aslan, bit her lips.
Ereta finally understood.
She had lost her qualification as a priest; her divine power had been revoked. The gods carefully guarded against anyone who had resisted or harmed them, fearing similar methods would be used against them.
That’s why Ereta had never received revelations or temptations from any deity. They feared she might turn into something akin to a fire-wielding spider.
‘If I had been less lucky…’
Watching the forest guardian flounder between anger and confusion, Ereta realized that she could have easily been in his place.
She had been fortunate. Hence, she listened intently to the conversation. It was far from irrelevant.
“Did I do something wrong?! My family, my son, my daughter, damn it, when I saw my wife hanging there, strangled to death, I couldn’t just stand by! Is that so wrong?!”
The forest guardian shouted, his cries filled with deep sorrow. He rose abruptly, overwhelmed by the despair of being denied the simple act of grieving and moving on.
Aslan watched his emotions, actions, and voice with a pained expression.
“I’m sorry.”
The forest guardian, having poured out his feelings and bowed his head, looked up in surprise at the unexpected apology. He had uttered it unconsciously.
With a calm voice heavy with deep sorrow, the forest guardian looked at Aslan.
He spoke with a tormented expression.
“Had I been there when it happened, none of this would have escalated to the worst-case scenario. You wouldn’t have become a priest, and perhaps we would have enjoyed your gratitude, eating the food you brought while resting together.”
But sighing after speaking, Aslan lamented the impossibility of such a scenario.
“Sorry after everything is over.”
The forest guardian fell silent, unsure of what to say, and simply lowered his head. Meanwhile, Aslan looked up at the trees.
Dozens of dangling corpses. The putrefied bodies of woodcutters, their innards eaten away by birds and insects, their limbs detached, fat melted and mixed with filth, creating a revolting scene.
Aslan felt a deep sorrow at the sight of countless deaths, knowing even mourning wasn’t permitted.
He gathered his thoughts amidst this grief and spoke deliberately.
“Often, I ask myself during moments like these: What is the best course of action?”
Among the hanging corpses was that of a young child, likely the child of a woodcutter.
“And each time, I answer: I don’t know.”
The dense forest was cloaked in silence, interrupted only by the chorus of birds and insects. Aslan slowly lowered his gaze.
“What is the best choice, or how to avoid the worst outcome—I always think about it, ask, seek answers, but I never find clear ones. Instead, I end up knowing even less.”
“Why are you saying this…?”
“There is no absolute good, just as there is no absolute evil. Where there is hypocrisy, there is also tragic evil. Your story is tragic, and it has justification. I understand it, and I won’t deny it.”
Though not entirely accurate, Aslan wished it were. The forest guardian’s lips moved.
“Then…”
“If you hadn’t done it, there might have been no other way to resolve the situation. Without resistance, instead of justice or revenge, the innocent woodcutters would have welcomed us, and your grievances and their wrongdoings would have been buried.”
Aslan chuckled bitterly midway through his speech. It was a familiar scene, one that wore him down.
To Aslan, Geladridion was not a livable land.
“A spectacle like this isn’t something anyone should endure. I know that well. So, I understand your choice.”
Smiling bitterly and lowering his gaze, Aslan gradually revealed his determination.
His vividly glowing emerald eyes shone without compassion, burning with unwavering resolve.
“It’s not your fault.”
He declared this with conviction to the priest.
“Neither your chosen actions nor the evils you committed are ultimately your fault.”
The forest guardian couldn’t comprehend these words.
“What are you talking about? What are you…? I don’t understand…”
But Aslan continued.
“They exploit the vulnerabilities of humans, infiltrating situations where there seems to be no way out. When humans yearn for strength the most, they whisper sweet promises. They grant that strength and take their payment. The result is always catastrophic. Humans cease to be human.”
Both those who become priests and those who encounter them stop being human. They become only corpses and priests. That’s how priests come to exist.
“Eventually, priests who abandon humanity lose their humanity and harm others, leading to more people abandoning humanity. This chain consumes and sickens Geladridion.”
“Why are you saying this?!”
The forest guardian screamed. Aslan returned his hand to the sword hilt, this time gripping it firmly with his right hand.
“It’s the evil deity that’s wrong, not you.”
The sword emitted a growling sound as it was drawn, revealing a blade glowing with a crimson hue. It was Dmitri’s long-used sword, the bloodthirsty Rutile, a sword that repairs itself by feeding on blood.
Aslan declared as he drew the sword.
“I am severing the chain you’re about to unleash. To prevent the worst, I choose the lesser evil.”
The forest guardian looked at the drawn blade and asked.
“You said it’s not my fault, yet you intend to kill me?”
“Yes, though you bear no fault, I cannot let you live. Eventually, you’ll lose your sanity and self, becoming a machine that slaughters.”
The forest guardian, unfamiliar with the term ‘machine,’ still grasped its meaning. Clutching his chest, he protested.
“That won’t happen! I’ve maintained my sanity! Since becoming a priest, I’ve stayed here and haven’t killed anyone! I…”
His words were cut off by Aslan’s expression of pity. The slight tilt of Aslan’s head instilled an odd discomfort in the forest guardian.
Something felt off.
“Is that really what you believe?”
The strange sensation—the unsettling feeling right before realizing something is fundamentally wrong. The same unease he felt when the woodcutters arrived and knocked on the door on the day his family was massacred. Cold sweat trickled from nonexistent sweat glands, accompanied by a peculiar dizziness, and he stopped.
Aslan addressed the forest guardian calmly.
“Where are your family’s bodies?”
Aslan flipped the script, revealing what the compromised forest guardian had done beneath the unease. The forest guardian suddenly recalled using his family’s bodies as materials for his own modifications.
His wife, son, and daughter—all forcibly crushed and consumed by the mechanical mouth to alter his body.
They became the material. They no longer existed in this world, not even a trace.
“Ugh, ughh, aaaahhh!”
The forest guardian screamed, retching and vomiting despite nothing coming out. He knelt, clutching his knees, pounding his eyes in a futile attempt to cry tears that wouldn’t flow.
Aslan murmured softly to his companions.
“Draw your weapons.”
The sound of weapons being drawn followed, and Aslan took a step forward, shouting.
“If you sought vengeance and were satisfied with it, why did you devour your family’s bodies?”
The forest guardian only screamed in response.
And the screaming forest guardian stood nearly two meters tall. His modified body concealed several weapons.
“If you were satisfied with vengeance, why did you modify your body?”
The forest guardian himself didn’t know. He failed to grasp that he had been compromised, harboring memories of actions he hadn’t consciously taken. He could only recognize the truth in Aslan’s words.
He screamed. He wailed. Clutching his head and trembling violently, the forest guardian suddenly stopped.
As he had been wailing and looking upward, his cessation brought silence to the forest.
With a soft thud, the arm that had been clutching his head fell.
His head rotated with a clicking sound, facing Aslan.
“The operator: NEMM-12000048615 detects psychological abnormalities. Manual shutdown of personality initiated.”
The voice emanating was not the forest guardian’s. It was feminine, mechanical, and decidedly non-human.
“Initiating automatic combat protocol.”
The towering figure of the forest guardian stood up. Two blades sprang forth with a metallic clang from the extended arms, and a nozzle emerged with a clunk from the elbows.
Aslan watched as the priest approached. The Devourer’s priest stood over 220 cm tall, his body fully covered by a glossy black exosuit that emitted a metallic sound with each step.
Facing this, Aslan’s expression hardened.
Clenching his jaw in anger, he spoke.
“You won’t even give me time to grieve or be shocked.”
Sensing the rage in his voice, the priest crouched into a fighting stance.
Aslan drew the life-preserving sword strapped to his back with his left hand, holding both swords loosely.
BOOM!
The priest charged. Darting directly toward him, Aslan narrowed the distance between them, raising the sword in his right hand to guard in front of his face.
“Purity.”
As if to confirm the intense anger, purity surged violently, whitening the surroundings.
The swirling white flames burned fiercely.
